Chapter 52: The Plan Sets in Motion

Ye Mi walked straight toward an old arcade machine tucked away in the corner of the game hall, slipped a coin into the slot, and swiftly keyed in a sequence of numbers.

A faint click sounded as a hidden door beside the arcade slid open, revealing a staircase that descended into the depths below.

This was the entrance to the underground Net City.

The damp reek of mold mingled with the stench of cheap e-cigarettes, making Ye Mi wrinkle her nose as she descended the stairs.

The dim corridor was lined on both sides with cramped cubicles, some lit, others shrouded in darkness, and the air was occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter and curses.

She made her way to the innermost chamber and knocked—three long, two short.

The door cracked open. A bloodshot eye scrutinized her with suspicion.

“Who is it?”

“A client,” Ye Mi replied in a hushed tone.

A tall, gaunt man poked his head out, still doubtful. “Never seen you before. Who sent you?”

“Ye Mi.”

At last, the door opened fully.

Li Cheng—her former colleague—stood before her, now so thin his cheekbones jutted sharply, his neck crawling with hideous scars.

He shifted aside to let Ye Mi in, remarking, “What a surprise. That girl is still alive?”

Ye Mi’s lips curled slightly. “What, were you hoping she’d be dead?”

“Not exactly. It’s just her eyes… Well, in any case, it’s good she’s alive.”

Ye Mi let the subject drop; she knew Li Cheng was decent enough, though tact had never been his strong suit.

She glanced around the room. The last time she’d been here, she was already blind, relying entirely on Li Cheng’s support and unable to take in her surroundings.

The place was cluttered with all manner of electronic equipment, and in one corner stood several transparent incubation pods, each holding unidentifiable human organs suspended in fluid.

Fitting enough for Li Cheng’s line of work: a trafficker in human organs.

Ye Mi pulled up a chair and sat without flinching. “I need two identity chips. They must be able to pass OC Corporation’s basic scan.”

Li Cheng poured her a cup of substandard synthetic coffee and raised an eyebrow at her words. “You in trouble?”

“Don’t ask.”

Ye Mi’s response was crisp. She took a sip of the coffee, then grimaced, setting the cup back on the cluttered table. “What is this? It tastes awful.”

The flavor was a watery mess of cheap artificial essence, barely reminiscent of coffee at all. It had been a long time since Ye Mi drank anything so unpleasant.

Li Cheng grinned, revealing a few metal teeth, and ignored her complaint. “The crackdown’s been harsh lately. OC’s rounding people up. Chip prices have doubled—thirty thousand apiece.”

The standard price for a chip should have been around twelve thousand.

Ye Mi understood immediately—Li Cheng must be desperate for cash.

The last time she’d come here, he’d at least served her decent tea.

Ye Mi nodded, agreeing to his terms. “I need ones that’ll pass the company scan—don’t palm off any dead man’s chips on me.”

Some black market traders specialized in prying chips from the corpses of cyber-psychotics or gang war casualties, selling them cheaply to unsuspecting buyers. Usually, anyone who swapped in one of those chips didn’t have long before OC’s security dragged them off.

Ye Mi was going to use these inside the Light Ruins, where Ledge City’s laws didn’t apply, but it never hurt to minimize risks.

Her eyes narrowed as her fingers unconsciously stroked the dagger at her waist.

Li Cheng instinctively shrank back at the motion. He turned away to retrieve two identity chips from a hidden compartment. “They’re from living people. Take it easy.”

Ye Mi took the chips; the cold metal pressed against her fingertips. She slotted them into the ports behind her ear and checked them thoroughly.

Fula Haike, Yuniel Teke—the names on the two chips.

Once she’d confirmed they were in order, Ye Mi transferred the money to Li Cheng without hesitation, nodded her thanks, and disappeared into the shadowy corridor.

As she walked, she carefully stowed Gina’s identity chip in her backpack.

Ledge City was nothing like the Light Ruins—most devices in the Light Ruins were defunct, making it impossible for ordinary people to scan others’ names or information. But here, privacy was a myth; everything about you was transparent.

For now, she was not Gina, but Yuniel.

When she exited the game hall, Ye Mi glanced up at the city’s riot of neon-lit architecture, then melted into the crowd.

Hours later, she stood just outside the hundred-meter exclusion zone of the Defense Bureau, squinting at the building where she’d been held.

At first glance, the Defense Bureau headquarters resembled an ordinary research center—its white façade stark and immaculate against the night, the main six-story structure lined with floor-to-ceiling windows.

To the right, the headquarters connected via a wide glass corridor to the containment block, a facility of seamless silver-gray where the monsters were held. From her vantage, Ye Mi could see small transport vehicles shuttling along the corridor, their beds loaded with sealed metal crates.

A full hundred meters around the joint buildings was a forbidden zone, patrolled ceaselessly by armored mechs, drones, and security squads, even in the dead of night.

With everything in place, the clock ticked down to ten hours before her rendezvous with Ian—precisely at 11:00 p.m.

Ye Mi settled in to wait.

8:55 a.m.

As the morning sun slipped through the gap in the curtains, Ye Mi was already awake, propped against the headboard, absently stroking the bedsheet with her fingers.

She heard familiar footsteps approaching in the corridor—drawing closer. Instantly, Ye Mi schooled her features, and as the door was knocked, she adopted a mask of frail exhaustion.

“Come in, Ian.”

Her voice was so soft it seemed about to break.

The door opened.

Ian entered, carrying a steaming box of wontons, their aroma wafting through the air.

“I had the cafeteria make a special batch—Eastern style, from your homeland. I thought you’d like it.”

With a smile, Ian set the tray on the table by the bed and gently smoothed Ye Mi’s disheveled hair.

Seen from afar, the scene could have been mistaken for two affectionate sisters.

Ye Mi took the bowl, eating slowly in small bites.

The rich scent filled the room.

Ian sat at the bedside, chatting as usual about recent amusements—another researcher botching an experiment, a new little monster in the containment wing and how adorable it was.

Ye Mi listened obligingly, though her fingers gripped the spoon tighter and tighter.

“Ian…” she suddenly set the bowl down, her voice trembling, “how much longer do I have?”

The question hung in the air, making the room fall eerily silent.

Even the faint hum of the drone overhead seemed jarring now.

“Fifteen days,” Ian finally sighed, choosing to tell Ye Mi the countdown of her life.

Ye Mi shuddered violently.

She bowed her head, shoulders shaking beyond control; tears fell in heavy drops onto her arms, the half-eaten wontons abandoned on the table.

Ian’s heart softened; she sighed and sat beside the girl, gently soothing her.

Beneath the bed, where Ian could not see, the silver body was already beginning to stir.